Worth Salvaging
by Silver Kitten
Summary: You’ll learn that once in a while, some things have to break so you can use the broken parts to fix something else.' Spoilers for 2.02. Reviews helpful.


**Worth Salvaging**

Warnings and otherwise: Mild cursing, spoilers for 2.02 Everybody Loves a Clown (Is it just me, or are their episode titles getting longer?). Drama abounds. And oh, there's sort of some flashbacks with little!Dean…because, Aw, little!Dean!

Disclaimer: Standard rules apply. Only this time, I didn't have to be the one to break the boys. They were broken for me. Thank you, Dr. Kripke. Really, thank you.

Author's Note: This is beginning to be a sick cycle for me…writing these extended scenes at the end of the episode. Don't get me wrong, I've loved-to-death the season so far, but I'm left with wanting just a _little_ bit more…you know? Yes, I do realize that sometime, certain tag scenes get old because so many people do them. But for the most part, everyone does something differently and I love seeing it. So even though there are several stories already up and pending, I hope this will be readable just the same.

And I have to say—for being sick and highly medicated, I am so proud with this piece. That may be the drugs talking, lol…but I don't think I've ever been so pleased with how my writing turned out before. I don't mean to sound cocky or anything—by no means do I claim this to be the best thing ever written EVER—it's just, I hardly get to say I'm proud of something I did. I'm sure there are some mistakes…and I'll probably want to change a few things after this is posted…but right now, I'm so content it's not even funny. I really do hope you enjoy. Sorry for the long author's note…I ramble when I'm tired and sick. Anything to avoid waking up with a sore throat.

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

* * *

"_This is where you work, Daddy?"_

"_That's right, kiddo. All day in this garage, with Mike."_

"_So what do you do?"_

"_All kinds of stuff. I can make old stuff look new. If something's broke, I try to fix it."_

"_Cool! I betcha you could fix anything in the world, huh, Daddy?"_

"_I don't know about that, Dean." The older man laughed. "Not everything can be fixed…"_

* * *

He loved the sound of breaking glass. He found a strange solace in the erratic shimmer of the window exploding into the air. It was something about the chaotic movement of matter through time that appeased him. It was a resemblance to his life, he guessed. Always running, chasing, fighting—always chaos. Beautiful chaos. It's what he lived in, what he lived for, and sometimes what he hated. It was home. It was childhood. It was right _now_. 

He stared at the lifeless remains of contorted steel, somewhere in the musty reflection of the dull paint, and he saw himself. Broken. Incomplete. Missing something. As far as he was concerned, he _was_ the Impala. He had a good run in this world. He'd been through a lot—more than most, worse that most. But he was a fighter at heart…and sometimes, tedious repairs were useless on something so utterly damaged.

The luster of life gone, spread across an asphalt graveyard in pieces and parts, in sweat and blood and the tears he refused to cry. Anger ruptured the surface of his strong silence, and he lashed out violently.

For so long he was trying to fix it.

For too long he was trying to fix himself.

And what was the point? It was already broken. He had always been broken, though no one seemed to notice. Not even him. Not even Sam. And he knows why.

He was always supposed to be the unconquerable one, indestructible, unbreakable. He wasn't allowed to break. Sam, Dad—they needed to depend on him. And he needed them to need to depend on him.

He was so angry at himself. So angry he let it go this far, and he felt the sudden need to destroy everything. All the pain, all the hurt, all the mistakes, all the never-said words pent up inside. Everything left of the wreckage was just a painful reminder of what he lost, what he never had, and what he can never keep steady. Everything that survived the wreckage…including Sam. Including himself.

He hated what it's become.

He hated not knowing how it got that way, how he let it.

He hated not knowing what was going to happen next.

**Slam.**

He meant for it to be hard. He meant for it to hurt him as much as it hurt the car. And he supposed if he thought about it hard enough, he meant for Sam to hear it.

**Bang.**

Metal against metal. His heart against his chest. He wanted it all to go away. He wanted it all to stop.

**Slam.**

Again and again and again. Like fire to ashes, he felt his arms weaken as his muscles tensed and burned, and he all but tossed the hammering object to the ground as his mind scrambled hastily to find its way back to sanity. But if he could evade clarity, understanding, remembering how much everything hurt…he would. He just couldn't.

He quickly gathered his strength and latched onto his breath as if it had been taunting his lungs. Everything was cold inside of him, and he felt his emotions boiling and clawing at the icy walls of his heart. Anger was what he knew best. Not crying. Not sharing and caring. But fighting. Yelling. Resenting.

Death was something Dean was accustomed to understanding. It was a part of a life. Casualties come with their line of work. But this was John—his father—who was gone. And that he couldn't deal with, even though he knew he needed to. His father being dead? He couldn't possibly understand it.

His very foundation had crumbled. And he was too tired. He was far passed exhaustion with trying to fix himself. Some things couldn't be fixed. Some things aren't worth fixing, aren't worth the time and effort, because even if you make them work again, it won't be the same.

It wouldn't ever be the same.

* * *

"_How do you know when something can't be fixed?"_

"_Well, it's difficult to tell sometimes. It's different for everybody. There are some things one person can fix that another person couldn't. If you can't fix it yourself, sometimes you need to ask someone for help. You know, like teamwork."_

"_But you're way more awesome than anyone else. I bet you never needed to ask for help!"_

"_I wish that were true, son. Everyone asks for help when they need it—they just don't always use words."_

"_That doesn't make any sense, Dad."_

"_It won't right now. But some day, it just might."_

* * *

Sam had barely turned the corner when he heard it. It was a clamor of something fragile shattering into the air, like glass. He could easily see a window being busted out, Dean right beside it, blunt object in hand. He could easily see the wounds that he'd never be able to suture up. 

He was frozen for a moment as he stared in agony while his brother took out all his anger physically—opposed to launching verbal attacks. The second his foot took the first notion of running to Dean, Sam felt a stern hand fall on his shoulder, and was pulled into a shadowy corner of the garage.

"Bobby—"

Sam read the words in his eyes before Bobby even opened his mouth.

"Let him."

He cringed immediately.

"He's my brother." That was Sam's only defense.

"I know he is. But he also needs to do this on his own right now." The older man instructed, pulling Sam closer towards the house where Dean was completely out of their sight. "You can't save everyone. Sometimes people need to save themselves."

**Slam.**

Sam knew he meant for it to be hard. He meant for it to hurt him as much as it hurt the car. And he supposed if he thought about it hard enough, he was meant to hear it.

**Bang.**

Metal against metal. His heart against his chest. He wanted it all to go away. He wanted it all to stop.

**Slam.**

Again and again and again. Like fire to ashes, any reserve he had quickly dissolved as he broke away from Bobby, who too hesitantly, too worriedly, but so confidently released him.

* * *

"_What happens to all the stuff you can't fix?"_

"_You sure have a lot of questions about this fixin' business."_

"_I want to be like you, Dad! I wanna fix things like you. I just got to know all the things you do."_

"_Well," the man smiled warmly, ruffling his four-year-old son's hair. "There's a lot of different ways something can break. And sometimes, there are a lot of reasons why it can't be fixed. But I will tell you this, Dean. All any mechanic needs is one piece worth saving. The rest you figure out along the way. If you want something to work bad enough, you'll find a way to make it happen. May not be what you had in mind…but it'll work somehow, in some way. Always does."_

"_You really believe that?"_

"_Yeah. Yeah, I do."_

* * *

They stared at each other a long moment. Sam struggled with his voice, silent words continually fell off his tongue and he gasped, sighed, and his breath swaggered in the air. 

Dean waited for the questions. They were inevitable.

_Why, Dean?_

_What did you do?_

_Why won't you talk to me?_

_Why haven't you fixed this yet?_

"It's useless, okay?" Dean snapped, and Sam jolted backwards by the rawness in his voice. "I've always done everything I could…Not everything can be fixed. I. Cant. Do. This."

Anger had already shaken the energy out of him, and his voice was reduced to a low, clam tone with much unsettled about it.

Sam reacted by picking up the hammer and he gripped it tightly in his hands. Dean only watched him for a moment, breathlessly, wordlessly. Then Sam swung his arm back as best he could, and as strong as he could, he flung the forsaken object as far away as possible.

He took a moment to get his breath back and stared hard in Dean's direction, waiting for his brother to look at him. But Dean only looked yonder, where the hammer hit the ground someplace nearly invisible. When Dean didn't look, Sam spoke loud enough in hopes of gaining some attention.

"I don't want _you_ to do this, Dean," He said, his throat clenching as he tried to speak. "I want _us_ to do this…together. It…I don't know how to handle the fact you won't even look at me. As if…as if I'm somehow responsible for Dad dying."

And of course, as nature intended for, the big brother in Dean quickly dissolved his harsh, stoic exterior and faced his brother completely, stepping towards him even.

"Now how in the hell would you get a crazy idea like that?"

"Think about it. Maybe if Dad knew that…if he knew…I didn't hate him. Maybe he would have fought harder. Maybe he wouldn't have died…"

"Christ, Sam."

"You can't deny it, can you? You feel that way, too."

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"Well then _say_ something!" Sam threw his arms in the air with surrender. "I don't know what to do, Dean. I watched you for hours and hours last week…waiting for you to wake up—praying to any God I could that you'd wake up. Because it's not the same without you. It's quiet. And I can't stand the silence, anymore. Even if you hate me, even if you yell at me and push me away, as long as you're alive, as long as you're _feeling_ something, as long as I can _hear_ you…that's all I need. So fight me. Hate me. Tell me to leave. If that's what you really want, if that's what will help…"

"Stay," Dean whispered. The word so gently spoken in such a beaten voice it was spectacularly painful to hear, but so beautiful and welcomed by the younger hunter. "I want you to _stay_, Sam."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to leave you. And I am sorry if that's what you think is gonna happen. We've lost Mom, now Dad…our family is falling apart. _We're_ falling apart…and if you think, for just one second, that I am prepared to let that happen…then I am _so_ sorry. Because you're wrong, Dean."

Sam was greeted with the most miserable smile.

"It hurts, Sammy. This really hurts. I've, uh…I've always known what to do…but this…I don't even know where to start."

Dean placed his hands tiredly on the bent hood of the Impala, staring rigidly at its new battle wounds. Sam followed suit, leaning slightly against his brother, wanting the comfort of his presence that the atmosphere so eagerly deprived him of.

"It starts right here. We're gonna do what we can to fix the car. The rest…we'll figure out along the way."

"You're pretty smart, Sammy." Dean spoke solemnly, but then a small smile flashed across his face. "But not too smart if you think I'll let you get under the hood anytime soon."

Sam laughed.

"I'll settle for the details. So long as you keep away from large, easy to swing objects."

Dean coughed forcibly. "Touché."

* * *

"_Daddy?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_For all the things you can't fix…that seem really unfixable…Can something stay broken forever?"_

"_A man can put his entire heart into a project. He'll pour his soul over something with just a small chance for success and come up short. But there's something I always find true. No matter how broken something is. No matter what wreckage you're dealing with…if you can't completely fix it, chances are there's something worth salvaging."_

"_Sal..vaging? What's that?"_

"_It's when you take what's left of something and put it to good use somewhere else. You save it, really. You'll learn that once in a while, some things have to break so you can use the broken parts to fix something else."_

"_Gosh, Dad. That doesn't make any sense, either."_

"_I don't expect you to understand right now. Life is simple for you, and I hope you have a long way to go before it gets complicated. Just…remember what I've told you, okay, kiddo?"_

"_Sure, Daddy. Always."_

"_That's my boy."_

* * *

Long hours were put into the night and onto the early morning before either of the brothers retired briefly from working on the car. They still had a long way to go, and a long time before the car would be running again, but they were already on their way to fixing something far more valuable; mending something far more necessary—saving each other. 

And there were still many things left to say, but with many hours left to work and much to do, they took their time in opening up. As long as they did, eventually. As long as conversations can be had by your older brother passing you a wrench, a delicate slip of the hand, saying '_I trust you_', '_thanks for not giving up_', and '_we're not all right, but we will be_'.

Dean rolled out from under the car, sat with his back against the door, and he watched Sam carefully, quietly, as he fumbled with some hardware and scrap metal on the other end of the car. He laughed to himself as he got up to help him out with whatever he was trying to do. And they stood side by side, working together. Where they belonged. Dean did a once-over on the mangled vehicle and shuddered inwardly. Every time he took in the damage, it hurt like new all over again.

But they were fixing it. Working on it. Even if sometimes he wanted to give up.

And he glanced up to the reflection in the front windshield, where he saw his brother and himself. So in the wreckage, he was reminded that no matter how bad things were…there was definitely some_one_ worth salvaging.

* * *

-:-**The End**-:-

_Well, before I set you free from my sandbox (hehe)…even though you can leave at any time…I just wanted to mention a few things._

_The whole 'flashback' sequence with the conversation between John and Dean was partially inspired by the song "Watching You" by Rodney Atkins. Country, for the most part, isn't exactly my favorite kind of music…but I heard that song—immediately thought of a four year old Dean and John—and it just really seemed to fit. And then I started to cry because John's gone…and poor broken Dean and broken Sam…but, I digress. It's a pretty cute song, so if you have a chance to listen to it, even if you don't like country, you might still like it if you kinda picture Dean and John._

_Also, I'm not quite sure what Dean used to smash the Impala with (which I actually wrote "Metallicar" a few times and had to change it) so I'm sorry if I was wrong in guessing a hammer. It may also have been a crowbar or something…_

_And, I just have to say…the ending scene for 2.02 just gets me every time I see it. I've watched it over and over and over, and I never get through it without tears in my eyes. That, and Sam dropping the coffee in the season two premier…those are two of my favorite, dramatic scenes. Such powerful emotion conveyed. I can't wait for next week's episode…took an hour of PTO so I could watch it when it's on instead of recording it, as a Birthday gift to myself next week. Wow, I'm really babbling…I'm sorry, it's the drugs…I think…_

_Feedback of any sort is wonderful and appreciated. Thanks for reading._

_Silver Kitten_


End file.
